Fortress Earth: Dreamland
by Highspeed0516
Summary: Original Story Duke Ross is a rare breed of young fighter pilot. He's one who already has a family. On a routine training mission, things get out of hand when strange unidentified flying objects light up the sky with their own conlfict . . .
1. Prologue

Prologue: The Class 5 Race 

Scramble! Scramble! Scramble! The alert blared into her mind like a shrill warning, making her large dark eyes water as she headed for the hanger at full speed. She was of the family of the Pulsing Star, and those familiar with her knew her self image as the morning sun of her home world, which she had not seen in perhaps twenty full orbits. She doubted now she would ever see that home again.

Her language was one of images. The images being communicated to her now were stark and dire. This was not going to be a battle they could win. But winning was not her objective. She had her mission, and the rest of the small task force had theirs. Her feet made light whooshing sounds as she skated lightly on a cushion of air down the shiny metallic surface of the artificially lit hallway leading to the starfighter hanger. She bent her body forward, keeping a careful posture and letting one her long sinewy arms swing low to the ground as she skated. She entered the hanger at nearly the exact time as the rest of her comrades exited their skating chutes. They all reached their sleek matte black spacecraft at nearly the same instant as well, and as they did each sent a small feeling of well wishing and hopes for survival.

The present attack by the enemy was quite unexpected. It was true that the potential value in capturing the world was great, but an illegal attack on the world of a class 5 developing race in this manner was deemed too bold for the enemy to waste resources on at this point in the war. Also, the risk to the enemy war effort increased the further away they sent battle groups from the central tactical lines of the ongoing conflict. But the numbers and size of the starships entering the system indicated the enemy was indeed risking a large fleet to a planet that was just abut as far away from the main tactical systems as one could get. The move was quite unexpected indeed.

The job of the small outpost she was assigned to was a simple one. The only directive was to be watchful of this planet, and to alert the main forces of any activity in the system. But her outpost was far from prepared for an all out attack. Nevertheless, it was their mandate to protect the planet for as long as they could.

With a force this size invading the system, the intentions of the enemy were clear. Her orders in this situation were also clear, and they were known only to a select few. As she gracefully encased herself in the flight chamber of her tiny starfighter, she removed an item from a pouch at her side that was for her knowledge only. The device itself would block any mental waves of its existence, even from the strongest telepaths of her people. A light glowed in her hand as she slid an object into its proper chamber in the consol of her ship. The source intelligence was in place, it would now guide her to the appropriate location. All she had to do now was make it through the battle raging on out in space.

Her ship launched easily at full speed down the triangular prism tunnel, the warm pink guiding lights on each of the three walls elongating into a single pink line of light as her ship rapidly picked up speed. Then she was embraced by stars and crisscrossing flashes of green light. Dawn of the Pulsing Star did not check in or acknowledge with the rest of the squadrons. She tried to mix herself as best she could into the fray, and found herself being targeted by the enemy immediately.

She could not call for help. She wasn't officially there. There were three of them, shaped like flat docile creatures of the great seas of many worlds, but colored an angry red to communicate their deadly intent. They swarmed her as if they were predators of some great black sea, and her tiny triangular ship was a prized morsel of prey.

Tactically she should turn and fight, but she could not afford the time to get mixed up in the fray. Scanning the chaos around her, she headed for the largest turning fight, hoping her allies would instinctively jump some of her pursuit. She took several hits as she rolled her ship in a dizzying spin, twice as many more flashes of deadly green plasma blasts zipping toward past her canopy as she arced her ship in a dive across the noses of two of her allies.

The ploy worked. Her allies gave up the targets they had been chasing and came after hers. Two of the enemy spilt off and became part of the mass engagement. An explosion to her right, and she felt a comrade's mind cease to function. Two brilliant explosions above her as she took pot shots at an enemy ship that zipped across her nose. In the distance, the massive dark shape of the carrier she had launched from was spinning lazily with several fiery geysers erupting into space. The mighty ship fought on despite being heavily damaged, determined to hold off two organic shaped cruisers of the invading enemy. More jarring vibrations through her shields let Dawn know she still had a pursuer. Time was running out, she needed to get down to the planet – and fast.

She threw her fighter into full reverse, hurtling at a right angle out from behind the dark side of the planet's single moon. She zipped toward the stars, then looped between two behemoth star vesicles, one onyx and trapezoidal, the other organic and bristling with weaponry as they exchanged their deadly light show. An explosion from one of the ships blew out a jet of fiery vapor which flash froze around her canopy.

Blinded, she flew on instruments and the guidance of the intelligence, which emitted its strange glow from her console as it spoke to her mind. It led her into the atmosphere of the planet, on an intercept course with some of the deadliest of her foe. The enemy was preparing to use their most terrible weapon all over the unsuspecting world. Her heart ached as she realized her people would not be able to stop most of the weapons in time. The fate of this world was all up to her now.

Her maneuvers had shaken her initial pursuit, but now she had new problems. The intelligence was pained. She was off course, but she had to follow the battle. She needed to try and follow a different grouping of combatants as soon as she could. Her destination would be over an ancient stretch of desert. Her canopy began to clear in the warmer air of the planet, and the improved visibility allowed her to snap her fighter ninety degrees to her right just in time to avoid a pair of the enemy as they strafed by in a head on pass. The enemy did not maneuver to follow her. Why?

Dawn realized with horror that the class 5 race was attempting to fight!

She could not believe their foolishness as their plainly outclassed atmospheric bound machines attempted to shoot explosive weapons propelled by fossils fuels. The blood red fighters of the enemy acknowledged this bravery by destroying the inferior flying machines one by one.

Dawn kept trying to avoid the battle, keeping her distance and watching as two dark grey aircraft propelled themselves after one of their off world enemy in a vertical climb, the flames of their combustion engine exhausts glowing white hot as they strived to keep pace long enough to spew fiery red projectile rounds at their targets. The blood red spacecraft simply spun in place in the middle of the sky and incinerated first one, then the other aircraft with just two shots. A maneuver like this was tactically insane in a space fight, as every star pilot knew movement was life. But against aircraft that had no choice but to continue forward motion, and lacking any shielding, the tactic proved deadly. By the time the locals realized what they were up against, it would be too late.

Dawn of the Pulsing Star now had a conflict; did she press with her mission at all costs, or try to assist the brave fools? If she helped, what would the elder race ambassadors think, and why couldn't she successfully make contact with them? Surely they were aware of the situation. But as she watched another aircraft with twin fossil fuel engines disintegrate, Dawn made her decision. The intelligence blared at her to disengage, but she pressed it from her mind as she maneuvered behind one of the enemy fighters. The pilot saw her coming, and reversed thrust to try to angle back underneath her. She compensated by halting her fighter for a heartbeat, then tearing skyward while spinning her nose back toward the sea, and the enemy. She blew the enemy starfighter to molecules before the pilot could realize the error in his maneuver. The Class 5 pilot she saved escaped with a dive into the clouds, hopefully not to try to return.

And then she was hit. Her engagement had drawn unwanted attention by two enemy wingman, and they bracketed her with deadly green energy blasts. Critical system alarms blared, she lost all lateral control, and she was capable of atmospheric gliding only. Curse her uncontrolled empathy! She was going to crash, and if she did not survive all would be lost. Unless …

She watched in amazement as one of the local class 5 aircraft performed an impressive maneuver, causing two of the enemy to collide in a ball of twisted metal and fire. The maneuver also cost the pilot his aircraft, but the male evacuated himself safely and began gliding toward the ground suspended below a bubble of fabric. Her mind regarded the male with interest as she struggled to hold her plummeting starship in the air as long as possible.

Was it possible? Would the intelligence accept a member of a class 5 race as its carrier? As the ground rushed up to meet her, Dawn of the Pulsing Star realized she had no choice. She reached out to touch the male's mind in communication, and as the intelligence reacted she was glad to know she had made a good choice. It was a comforting thought to have just before the searing pain of a cart wheeling crash sent her into blackness.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Out of the Blue

Blue. There was so much blue, he thought. The ocean below gave no indication of the tremendous speed he was traveling in that sea of blue. The only interruption to the blue was the occasional wispy thin white cloud as the afternoon sun glinted off of tiny ice crystals. Duke Ross expanded his awareness as far as he could see out into the horizon. Part of his awareness included his flight lead, riding in the F-15 C just a forty five degree glance to his left. He flicked his hazel eyes down to a miniature green square screen just above his left knee and took note of what his radar was telling him as the Airborne Warning and Control System controller buzzed information in his ears.

Today was what was known as his "check ride." This air-to-air fight would pit four F-15 Eagles against four F-18 Hornets. His performance in the dogfight would display to his instructors that he was ready to move on to the operational level. It was the type of test that stuck with you the rest of your career.

"Fights on!" came the call that was started by his flight lead and echoed by all.

The mission was simple enough. Victory meant stopping four adversaries from reaching a point in space and deploying imaginary bombs on a simulated target. He went over the timeline for the intercept in his head once more as he confirmed the new information the AWACS controller was feeding him. The four F-15's would operate in pairs, each including a student and an instructor. Each pair would simulate taking long-range missile shots and then close to within visual range if any of the enemy managed to evade the initial salvo.

The Hornets were still over their starting point in the south at the moment, preparing their formation before they made their run for the target. A voice crackled over the inter-flight comm channel, "Alright, let's go around again, Sammy," said his flight lead and instructor, Major Dan "Otter" Fuller.

"Copy." Duke replied.

Sammy was short for his tactical call sign, Samurai, given to him because of his obsession with Japanese martial arts. Duke liked the name, as he considered the tactics of flying a fighter plane in battle to be simply an extension of his art. Battles in general depended on who could win the chess match in proper targeting, attacking from correct distance, and executing with perfect timing. Duke rolled his jet fighter – his sword cutting through the great blue – and prepared to make sure he started with proper targeting.

As they turned north, Duke knew that the other pair of F-15's would be turning back south to keep an eye on the adversary formation. It wasn't all-together necessary to run a defensive combat air patrol this way, he knew, because the E-3 AWACS, whose call sign today was Chalice, would be able to see everything and keep them updated with both audio and digital information. However, it was always nice to have weapons and radar pointed at the enemy.

Major Fuller said, "Passing." on the control frequency that all four F-15's and the AWACS controller were listening to. This was simply a timeline management call that meant that the two pairs of F-15's were now parallel to each other in their orbit. Duke could just make the grey specks that were other pair of Eagles out in the sky to his left. Captain Carl "Fox" Whitten was flying the lead aircraft of the other flight, and his student was Duke's good friend, Lt. Mindy "Mittens" McAllen. Duke and Mindy were both members of the 60th Fighter Squadron, better known as the Fighting Crows. Today the pilots of the F-15's were using the squadron's namesake as their call signs. The aircraft would be referred to on the control channel as Crow One through Four.

Duke jumped a little as the noise of the AWACS controller's voice interrupted the Zen and peace of his quiet cockpit. The crisp male voice updated the location of the adversaries, who had crossed into "friendly" territory and were now considered hostile according to the rules of engagement for this fight. They were coming in as a tight group of four at twenty seven thousand feet. Captain Whitten's voice was next to be heard.

"Crow Three committed. Four, you sort the eastern contacts, I have the western."

This meant that the other flight was targeting the hostiles and was preparing a firing solution. Duke had great faith that Mindy could accomplish this quickly. He had known her practically his whole Air Force career after all, and she was nothing if not the most efficient pilot in his age group that he knew. Duke buckled his oxygen mask back into place over his chiseled facial features as he tightened formation with his own flight lead. It would be time to turn back into the fight soon.

"Crow Three, Fox Three!" Captain Whitten announced, sounding very gruff on the radio and using the pilot term for a long-range missile shot.

A moment later Mindy's crisp alto voice chimed in with "Crow four, Fox 3!"

The computers each of their planes began tracking the simulated missile shots. Duke waited patiently for the Crows three and four to guide their missiles by the book.

After several long heartbeats Duke at last heard the words he was listening for. "Crow Three out!" followed by, "Crow One is in!" came over the radio, and

Duke felt his jet tug at him as he turned to meet the hostiles.

Duke noted his lead was climbing and felt his belly drop as he climbed his aircraft to follow. The jet screamed skyward. Duke locked the eastern-most target using a kind of miniature mouse by his thumb on the throttle in his left hand. This controlled a small cursor on the small green radar screen. He briefly checked to make sure he had long- range AMRAAM missiles selected one last time, and prepared to fire.

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From the outside, the E-3 AWACS is a peculiar looking aircraft, essentially a commercial liner with a very large and powerful radar attached to the top in the form of a rotating saucer-shaped dome. The dome is painted black and divided down the middle with a thick white line. The rest of the old Boeing 707 airframe is painted a light gray hue. The aircraft bristles with radio antennas and other sensor equipment.

Orbiting approximately sixty miles north of the small and nimble fighter aircraft lumbered an AWACS of the 963rd Air Command and Control Squadron. The interior of the aircraft buzzed with activity, as a crew of thirty scrambled to make sure all the assigned missions went smoothly. Towards the front of the aircraft sat eight airmen at display consoles arranged into rows of three. In the first row at the middle console sat a young man with his brown hair cut short so that it went spiky along the part-line. He wore black wire-framed glasses, which seemed to float on his lightly freckled and narrow face. His flight suit highlighted the fact that he was skinny, but in good shape, and he had sheets of paper with information on the day's missions in front of him on the fold down desk attached to the computer console.

Lt. Jeff Andrews was fresh out of the schoolhouse, but he was grateful to be finally controlling on his own. It had been a long two-year process to get to this point, and he really felt like he performed better without someone looking over his shoulder. He watched his viewing scope, which to the untrained eye was a confusing mess of lines and dots and symbols representing aircraft. He could hear and see that the F-15's he was responsible for had lined up their long-range shots nicely and with good timing. The Marines were beginning to maneuver now, trying to both throw off missile shots and confuse the F-15 pilots. The F-18's split into two pairs, one pair headed east and the other west.

Jeff kept his pilots updated on the "enemy" maneuvers.

Moments later the west pair turned south, away from the F-15's, and was apparently descending. Suddenly the altitude reading leaped back up again.

"Ah." Jeff said to himself. "So that's what you're up to."

Jeff had seen this trick many times before. The aircraft in the west were trying to sneak one plane in low below radar coverage, while the other remained up high. The purpose of this maneuver was to sneak the low plane into the target area undetected while the F-15s were busy. Soon, Jeff knew, the western planes would turn around and head north again. For now, he let his pilots know of the situation and directed them to take care of the planes in the east while he kept an eye on those in the west.

Now Jeff was just listening for what the pilots needed, so he sat back a little, and noticed something strange. They were over the ocean, but the radar was picking up an unusual amount of clutter, or false radar indications, about 80 miles to the southeast. Usually one saw this sort of thing in mountainous regions, not over the ocean, so this piqued Jeff's curiosity. Using his keyboard, he sent an instant message to his direct boss, Captain Dwayne Hicks, the Senior Director of the weapons section. The message was accompanied by an arrow that would appear on the Captain's screen asking if he could figure out what the disturbance was.

Captain Hicks was a tall, dark skinned man with his head shaved completely bald. He had a large nose and looked to Jeff as if he would have made an effective bouncer in a bar. Sure enough, he heard Captain Hicks ask the surveillance section of the aircraft if they could figure out what was causing the clutter. The Surveillance Officer, who was in charge of the section responsible for adjusting radar settings and identifying aircraft, promised she would get on it. Jeff hadn't properly met the Surveillance Officer because she was new to the squadron, but he reflected as he listened to her voice that she was quite pretty with short blond hair and blue eyes.

Jeff went back to managing the intercept. Yet he couldn't help thinking the clutter was very strange. Sometimes it seemed as if some of it was actually aircraft, but then the dots would jump around much too sporadically again. The F-15s were leaving their patrol now, and the lead and his wingman were getting close to the eastern two fighters. They would need his help again soon.

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"Crow Two spiked one-six-zero medium!" Duke announced, as a single high-pitched tone filled his ears, letting him know an enemy radar was locked onto him. "Crow Two spike range 12, twenty two thousand, hostile." came the AWACS' reply. 'Good.' Duke thought, 'It's the same guy I'm targeted to.' Duke turned hard ninety degrees to the east, knowing shots may have been fired at him, but the tone in his ear soon went quiet.

"Kill western contact twenty thousand!" announced Major Fuller."

Then, over the inter-flight radios he heard his flight lead say, "That was a good move there Sammy, now pitch back in and pop this other guy."

Duke was way ahead of him. The other hornet passed below him and to his left in a blur of motion. Duke flipped his jet on its back and felt the blood rushing to his head as he pulled back on the stick in a very high-G left-hand diving turn. Duke grunted loud and low in his belly to fight the effects of the pull of the earth on his body and rolled out behind the Marine.

"Crow Two, tally one!" Duke blurted, letting his flight know he had a visual on the Hornet. Duke was almost in firing position, but the Marine would not be taken so easily. Duke followed the smaller jet through a series of rolls. As Duke concentrated hard on staying with his target, he was vaguely aware that his flight lead was hanging back, giving him support, and that AWACS had vectored the other pair of F-15's onto the low flying F-18's further west.

Duke barely cut his speed in time as the Marine reversed direction of his turn. For a brief moment, this drop in speed gave Duke the chance he needed to lock on and fire. Duke didn't miss the opportunity. "Kill eastern contact at fifteen thousand in a right hand turn," announced Duke triumphantly.

The other F-18s were also "killed" shortly thereafter. Major Fuller announced "Crow One, terminate." He was followed by "Two, terminate," "Three, terminate," and "Four terminate." Duke knew the Marines were also terminating with their controller on the AWACS.

Now that he thought about it, the controller that had been talking to Duke's flight had not come back over the radio with "Chalice, terminate." Major Fuller had to ask the controller if he had copied the termination of the fight. This seemed to Duke to be something uncommon for this controller, who had been spot on all day so far. Duke paid it no more mind as he prepared with his flight lead to join up with the other F-15's and reset for another fight.

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"Negative. It's not a storm," said the perplexed Surveillance Officer. The clutter cloud of randomly jumping dots was now drifting within fifteen miles of the airspace. The concern now was the glitch might interfere with the ability of the controllers to keep awareness on the fight. The radar operator and technicians were tweaking the radar every way they knew how without using a complete restart of the systems. A thought occurred to Jeff.

"S. D., maybe we could check if Eglin mission or Darkstar sees anything similar," Jeff stated over the weapons internal comm line.

"Alright we'll try, but I'm not sure what good that will do," replied Captain Hicks. Moments later, they had confirmed that both the other AWACS in the vicinity and the controllers on the ground had noticed the same clutter disturbance. Not only that, but Eglin mission was able to confirm several unknown clutter disturbances around the nation. Some were interfering with commercial routes, but most disturbances seemed to be occurring in the upper atmosphere.

"It could be some type of weird cosmic disturbance . . ." the Senior Director mused to the rest of the crew. "Like a solar flare?"

"Don't know," answered the Mission Crew Commander, scratching the back of his head and running fingers through graying hair. "But a solar flare would mess with our communications, wouldn't it? Not our radar."

The female Surveillance Officer spoke up. "That's right, sir. Our radar would burn through anything like that."

"S.D. copies," acknowledged Captain Hicks. "Maybe we can get some intel from Cornerstone over SATCOM - I'll see what I can find out."

'This was getting interesting,' thought Jeff. SATCOM was military speak for satellite communications. It came in handy when the crew needed to talk to command centers beyond normal radio range. Cornerstone was the name for the command center at Tinker Air Force Base in Oklahoma City, home for all AWACS. Cornerstone had information on all military air activity going on at any given time, but they were also a good source of information for weather or other factors effecting flight. Jeff found it odd that with all the combined flight experience of the crew, no one had ever seen anything like this. This was something very rare indeed.

"Front, this is the S.D. Let your fighters know what's going on and tell them if it becomes a factor, we might go autonomous."

"Front," acknowledged Jeff, for both himself and his partner controller, Lt. Jake Riley, who sat to his right, talking to the Marine pilots. Jeff had gotten to know Riley pretty well already. Like many officers in the Air Force, Riley had been a prior enlisted serviceman who had chosen to go to officer training school to earn his commission. The man had youthful features for someone Jeff knew was in his mid thirties, and Riley's blond hair and blue eyes gave him a very Scandinavian appearance. The third seat on the front row of consoles was currently empty and could be used as a spare if, needed. Jeff let his pilots know of the strange problem and that they might find themselves on their own in the next fight if the phenomenon drifted over their practice area.

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"Terrific," said Duke to himself. "We simply couldn't have everything go right today, could we?" Shaking his head, he followed his flight lead through the turn to the south as they reestablished their combat air patrol. Leave it to some glitch in the AWACS to …

Duke's thoughts were interrupted as he looked out to the southeast. He keyed his internal flight comm button. "Otter, do you see what I'm seeing?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's the damndest thing I ever saw," Major Fuller replied. "You ever heard of the old World War Two Foo-Fighters?" "Yeah," said Duke absentmindedly. He was staring at the phenomenon now.

Duke was looking at what had to be to be at least one or two hundred tiny black dots darting back and forth across the sky. Strange yellow green flashes of light danced back and forth between the strange swirl of unidentified objects. This strange aerial ballet was focused around four gigantic objects. The objects were so large Duke thought they must be an optical illusion. Even ten miles away the dull blood red behemoths filled his heads up display completely. The giants looked something like a curved spiny turtle shell, with the sides curled up in a sort of curling wing. Every now and again some of the dots would flare bright red and orange. Duke estimated the activity to be few thousand feet above them, but it was getting closer, and fast.

"Better call this in," said Major Fuller, "I think we've found Chalice's disturbance."

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What? Thought Jeff, who could not believe what he had just heard. Was this some kind of joke? Then he thought of the strange disturbances now being reported all around the nation, and he knew that this was no joke at all.

"Say again, Crow One. Confirm you have spotted over a _hundred_ unidentified flying objects?"

There was a short pause, and then the F-15 flight lead replied.

"A-firm, Chalice, we are seeing multiple UFOs at about ten miles now. There are two types of smaller - Oh hell … just call them spacecraft - and three much larger ones. We're seeing quite a light show over here, Chalice? I – It looks like a dogfight to me."

"S. D. are you hearing this?" asked Jeff.

"S.D. copies all" answered Hicks, a little bit of a bemused chuckle still in his voice.

"So much for the old weather balloon explanation this time, huh?" he added dryly.

"Weapons, have all fighters come up on the blue air frequency and knock off the fight. These things are for sure a safety problem for the fight now. I'll contact Eglin mission and prepare to send them home. In the meantime, have them keep us updated on the situation. I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to say to them, this is just nuts, but I'm going to go on SATCOM and let command know what's going on. How copy?"

Jeff acknowledged for his partner and himself, while the back rows also acknowledged they had heard the plan. Then the senior director asked the radio operator to set up the radios so that everyone could listen to SATCOM. In a few seconds the job was done.

In the meantime, Jeff focused his attention on his fighters.

"Crow One, Chalice. Copy the craft are fighting. Can you describe them?"

The flight lead's answer sounded distracted.

"Uhhhhhh, yeah, Chalice, standby … and we're going to start working our clearance now. There are several very close now … Jesus they are fast! Crow Three, Four, close it up. Let's descend to fifteen thousand. I don't want to get caught up in this … Holy shit, that's incredible!

Jeff interrupted in a calm voice.

"Crow One, expect Vega Two-One up on this freq shortly."

Vega was the aircraft call sign for the Marine fighters. Lt. Riley was telling his F-18's the same.

"You are clear to work your own clearance," continued Jeff. "Chalice is working on SATCOM now to relay your report."

With that, they were done. Once the fighters had their clearance, Eglin mission would take over and they would be cleared to leave the air space and go home. Until then, Jeff wanted as much information as possible. "Crow One, Chalice will continue to monitor this freq. Please describe everything as best you can." Jeff concluded.

The reply was full of static and broken. " …ice, copy. Vega Two-One is up with us … two types of craft … one dark and triangular like an arrowhead, others are dark reddish, curvy, kind of a stingray or floppy spade look. Something else very big … n't see … were in the mi … ow "

Jeff heard the Marines check in and begin interacting with the F-15's. "This is Vega Two-One up with you Crow, … you believe this? Whoa! That one bought it. What! No! … Oh my god! Everyone head for the de …"

The last sound from Vega Two-One was a scream that was cut off short.

The F-15 flight lead spoke up again. The voice was at the quick pace of a fighter pilot who had switched his intent into full battle mode. He was breathing hard against tremendous G-forces. "Chalice, Crow One … Vega Two-One and Two were just att … no chute … exploding … Cr … defensive! Crow Three, watch your … shi …" The flight leads voice became a bit more frantic. "Chalice get us some help! . .e_. .can't fight ba-."

Jeff wasted no time. Two years of training kicked in automatically. He just never expected to use it so close to home. He sent a transmission to Eglin mission, demanding they scramble armed fighters, explaining that Air Force fighters were under attack. To Jeff's frustration, the bored traffic controller on the ground at Eglin responded slowly, rudely asking for authentication to such an unheard of request. Captain Hicks stepped in and dealt with Eglin, telling Jeff to concentrate on the fighters.

Jeff tried giving threat warnings to his fighters as best he could, but the unidentified craft seemed to leap wildly on his screen. It was an impossible task. His frustration gave way to wonder as he noticed that three clusters of dots were moving slower, each was about a mile and a half across. Might these be the "something big" that Crow One had referred to?

As Jeff considered this, something else made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Some of the rapidly jumping dots were making their way towards the E-3 itself! Jeff activated his internal radio. "S.D., Three. Better have the flight deck get us out of here quick."

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Things had gone from wonder and curiosity to sheer terror and panic for Duke and the other pilots in an instant. As his flight waited for clearance, they had simply circled, watching in fascination as the stingray shaped ships battled the black arrows. The odd-looking craft pulled impossible ninety-degree maneuvers. They would zip one direction, hover for an instant, and then completely change direction at equal speed. The ships could climb vertically with ease or roll impossibly fast.

Duke would not allow himself to believe there could be any one in the ships he was watching. Any pilots inside would be experiencing incredible bone crushing "G" forces, Duke realized. Rapid flashes of green energy frequently zipped between the ships. Occasionally, the black arrows would pull back into formations and make attack runs on the bulbous turtle-shell shaped ships that had to be at least a mile long. Sometimes small explosions would erupt along the hull of the ship, but most of the green energy seemed to dissipate on some sort of invisible field like water splashing onto concrete. Duke could see that the large ships had immense engines at the rear. These engines emitted an eerie blue light, but did not smoke or flame at all. All of the smaller ships seemed to be powered by much smaller versions of the same engine. Every now and then one of the smaller ships would be destroyed in great flashes of red and orange. A definite cosmic dogfight, brought down into Earth's atmosphere and directly into their lap. To their peril, Duke realized moments later.

Four of the dark red ships broke away from the fight and pounced on the F-18's, who were trying to join up with the F-15's. An instant later, green flashes and fire had consumed two of those F-18s. The four strange ships over-shot them all, turned one hundred eighty degrees in place, and came back to strafe again. The F-15 Eagle pilots broke formation like a starburst, each pilot instinctively avoiding fire. Captain Whiten in Crow Three was not fast enough. The F-15's had turned and dove for the ocean surface, running for home and no longer caring about such trivial things such as clearance. The surviving F-18's had also dived, but they were two miles in trail. They could no better outrun the strange incoming ships than an ant could outrun a boy with a magnifying glass. Over the radio Duke heard the voices of the frantic Marines cut short.

Duke pressed his Eagle for all it was worth. He knew from what he had just seen that it was hopeless to outrun this new enemy, but he pressed on with the two remaining Eagles. He held his breath and braced himself for the flames. He dared glance back. He caught a glimpse of one of the stingray ships disintegrating as two of the arrowhead shaped black ships rained green energy into it. The other stingray ships scattered. The black ships continued after them in pursuit, apparently not hostile or unconcerned with human aircraft. In less than three minutes, the three remaining Eagles would be overland, and hopefully, Duke thought, safety.

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Jeff listened gravely along with the whole crew as Cornerstone told them what was quickly becoming world news. Scientists and astronomers around the globe were reporting at least five massive objects, each at least eight to twelve miles long, in high earth orbit. Four of the objects were organic-shaped in appearance. Long and bulbous, they looked like large orbiting undersea sponges. The fifth object was slightly larger than the other four, and was a perfect pyramid shape. An impressive light show of green flashes was taking place between the pyramid and the other four objects. The entire phenomenon had scientists perplexed as to what was happening. Hundreds of smaller objects were also darting around in orbit. Hundreds more had entered Earth's atmosphere at various points around the globe. The activity of these smaller objects swarmed around the locations of at least a hundred and fifteen of the mile long ships. In the U.S. alone, five large objects were moving up the east coast, eight were moving in the gulf region, and seven were moving in on the west coast. There were also five more large objects descending into the northern U.S. from Canada. Several airliners and military aircraft sent to investigate had been destroyed. Most nations were now at a status of high alert. As the intruders made several hostile acts, military fighters of the world were being scrambled to all the locations within reach. All the craft seemed to have appeare out of nowhere and without warning. The debate whether Earth was alone in the universe had been answered. News reports around the world made it clear that the media was convinced that these were aliens. Jeff was glad that Cornerstone was well informed, but even the brass at Tinker were surprised to find there seemed to be two separate alien groups battling one another. Apparently, this fact was not widely known, despite the activity being observed in space.

The Mission Crew Commander reported what their F-15 pilots had seen and heard, and he also noted that they were scrambling fighters, and that at least one type of alien craft might not be hostile to humans. This was important information, Jeff realized, because the human race certainly could ill afford to have both groups become hostile. He hoped it would reach all of the politicians of the various nations launching fighters in time.

Jeff checked his display screen. Crow One was currently speeding for home with its two remaining members, just as two fully armed squadrons of F-15's and a squadron of F-18's were getting airborne. The AWACS was pulling away from the activity to the northwest, but was still trying to maintain radar coverage on the situation.

Jeff noticed three areas of solid dot clusters begin to mark the location of the formation of the three gigantic ships the pilots were mentioning. This formation was beginning to break up and move in different directions. One of them was being followed closely by more clutter, which had to be the fighters. This cloud of fighter, Jeff presumed, must mark where the larger ships escorts were engaging pursuing attackers. One of the huge craft was headed northwest, towards his own aircraft. Not good. The second craft appeared to be headed east, toward Miami, and the third continued north. He noticed more of the randomly jumping dots making their way further out from these ships.

"Oh no," he breathed. "Crow One, HEADS UP! More alien craft in pursuit! You are green to the northwest, armed squadrons airborne at fifteen miles."

Jeff was worried about the group headed northwest toward them. He directed one of the F-15 squadrons toward it, while his partner took responsibility for the other squadron. Three more weapons officers joined in to assist them, one of them controlling the Marine F-18 squadron. The crew prepared for battle.

________________________________________________________________________

Duke relaxed for only a moment as he saw twelve F-15's flying by above him, the orange glow of full afterburners highlighting them as they passed. He recognized them as their sister squadron, the Gorillas. Duke's own flight of three were now minutes from landing and low on fuel. They had to slow a little bit and come off afterburner for the landing approach, but were still using the maximum approach speed so they could get on the ground, arm, and join the fight as soon as possible. Things didn't work out as planned. Duke listened to the control channel, and in between Chalice's sporadic attempts to give any information at all on the alien craft, what he heard horrified him. The action was quick and hard to follow, but as a trained pilot, Duke had no trouble picturing it in his mind.

First, the AWACS controller, who owned the authority to grant permission to fighter pilots to attack, gave the scrambled fighters some rules of engagement. "Gorilla Lead, Chalice. Target only the red invaders. You are also authorized to fire on the large ships, intelligence reports them to be hostile."

Duke heard the flight lead acknowledge this, and then the fighters began to call out their targeting plan. Yet, this adversary was a difficult target.

"Gorilla One, targeted east group, no west … no … bah, I can't get a steady lock. Let's knock the big one down, boys and girls. We can see it from fifteen miles out, for crying out loud!" The Gorillas began taking their shots at the large craft.

"Gorilla Five, Fox Three, single contact, very heavy."

"Gorilla Four, Fox Three, same."

Duke heard twelve fighters fire missiles, then each one fired a second round. "Yeeeehaaaaw! Take that. What the? Nothing, not even a scratch. Twenty-four missiles … Gorilla One, did you see that? They all blew up well short of the target."

Duke's eye's widened when he heard this. No damage at all? How could that be?

The squadron lead responded to his wingman. "Affirmative Two, some type of shields. What about the smaller ones?"

A random voice answered. "I think were about to find out, One. Multiple hostiles inbound."

Duke guessed the random voice was probably Gorilla five, because an instant later he heard the same voice. Apparently he and his wingman were first to come close to the alien flyers.

"Passing between us, Six."

"Copy I see them, I'm on the leader."

"He's gone straight up, _..grrr..Six's going ballistic."

"Five's with you, Six"

Duke hoped the pilot in Gorilla Six was able to stay with the ship in the vertical climb, but even though the F-15 could actually accelerate going straight up, he had doubts about the plane's ability to keep up with the strange craft.

"Wooohooo, those little black ships are great! Two kills for them, Six re-engaging low."

That was good news thought Duke, at least someone was doing some good up there. The positive moment was shattered by what Duke heard next from Gorilla Three.

"Gorilla Four watch yourself! Chalice, Gorilla Three, fours do_.." Nothing but static followed.

Duke itched to get back into the fight. Two of his brothers were down.

"Gorilla One locked, Fox Two! Good hit! Damn it! Small fries have got the same defense. Squadron, stay as close as you can to those black ones try and cause some confusion for the hostiles."

Duke swallowed. How could the Air Force be so helpless? Force fields like this were only make believe weren't they? Maybe they should try the guns. Duke was about to ask his own flight lead what he thought when something Gorilla Seven said caught his attention.

"Another black one just went down, sir I think they are losing."

It went on and on. The F-15 pilots calling shots, giving each other warnings, Chalice piping in with threat positions. Most of the communication was defensive in nature, and to Duke it didn't seem like they were even doing the black ships any real good. After losing three more planes, suddenly it was the E-3 itself that needed help.

"Gorilla One, this is Chalice, pull back to our position, at two-two-zero; thirty five from Eglin. Need assist …"

Gorilla one responded, and ordered what remained of his squadron to comply.

"Well do our best, Chalice. Gorilla's fighting withdrawal on me."

That was it then, everyone was on the run. Duke did a quick estimation in his head based on the AWACS current position.

"Otter, they'll never make it in time," Duke pointed out.

"We can't do any good, Sammy, and we are low on fuel," responded his flight lead. "We are to land, and then we'll get back up."

Duke respectfully tried again. "Sir, I doubt well do much good anyway, but I think we have to try to help Chalice now! We could distract them or something. Sir it's our duty."

There was a long pause and then "Alright, Sammy, we're on you, we'll divert to Tyndall if we get through this. One pass only, see if we can buy Chalice some time. Understood?"

"Yes sir," said Duke grimly.

_______________________________________________________________________

The AWACS crew strapped in and prepared for impact as the crash bells went off. Their seats could pivot outwards and lock in place facing away from the console, which allowed for better crash protection and easy access to escape routes. They weren't hit yet, but Jeff and his comrades had reported that alien vessels had broken away from the main fight near the large ship and were now within ten miles. The aliens could be on them in an instant. The pilots had thrown the E-3 into a combat dive and headed in a northerly direction towards land. Jeff knew Gorilla Squadron was trying to get to them, but with the radar useless at this speed and altitude, he wouldn't be able to tell anyways. They still had radios, though, which at least brought Jeff a little comfort.

Radios also brought Jeff sadness. The three squadrons had sent up thirty-three aircraft in all. Now only twelve were left. Jeff had felt helpless as they fought hard but dropped like flies. Five of these were in Gorilla squadron. Jeff braced himself. Even if the Gorillas managed to get into escort position, would it do them any good?

A familiar voice crackled on the radio. "Chalice this is Crow One, what is your flight deck's frequency? How copy?"

Jeff was stunned. They were up again already? He felt a little hopeful. " __errm loud and clear, Crow One, standby." Jeff pulled the frequency paper he had stuffed into his pocket before strapping in. "One-six-three-decimal-two-five"

Captain Hicks piped up with "I copy, Three. I'll have the radio operator get that rolled into your console now." Moments later the radio operator had them all on the same frequency.

"Sentry Three-One, Crow One. We'll be with you in one min. We detect multiple hostiles closing. We're going to pass you on your left wing about two miles out, see if they'll bite on us. I don't know how these things track, but if they use anything like radar, it might work to confuse them. Head directly east for about ninety seconds once we are off your left wing."

Sentry Three-One was the call sign used by the pilots of the AWACS, known as the "front end" call sign. Jeff heard the pilots confirm they understood the plan.

"Sentry Three-One right turn on my mark," said Crow One a few moments later. "Three, two, one, mark!"

Jeff's stomach sank as the piggish jet made one of the tightest turns he had ever felt it do.

_______________________________________________________________________

Lt. Mindy McAllen felt like she was being dragged along for the ride. She was considered very attractive by many of her squadron mates. She was olive skinned, with dark eyes, and dark curly hair that seemed to always give her trouble in braiding to military standards. Guys sometimes found her appearance to be exotic. Despite the advances of some, she was determined to not date within the military.

Mindy scanned the sky nervously. So Duke wanted to be a hero. She didn't feel like being a hero. Today was supposed to be about training. She was not at all prepared to be shot at yet, especially by an enemy who was invincible as far as they were concerned. To top it all off, they were UNARMED and low on fuel. This is madness, she thought to herself. This morning, all she had been concerned about beside this mission was the fact that she seemed to have put on a few pounds. She had decided she needed a harder workout routine than the three miles she ran three times a week. Now she had to fear for her life. Behind her she could see the specks and flashes as the alien dogfight pressed towards them. She knew from their first horrible encounter with the aliens only moments before that if a hostile group of ships broke away they would be on them in seconds. She only hoped that the E-3 would get enough distance from them before that happened. They kept a tight triangular formation, hoping to appear as large as they could on any type of radar. Major Fuller took the lead with Duke on his left and Mindy on his right.

"Here they come!" shouted Mindy urgently.

"Crap. I knew it was too much to ask to have a little luck," whined Duke to the others on the inter-flight channel. Mindy blinked and suddenly there were six blood red stingray aircraft around them, chased at impossible angles around the sky by four of the arrowhead-shaped ships. Mindy could also still see the E-3, the big plane now tiny gray speck skimming the beaches as it fled low to the east.

"Time to get out of here," said Major Fuller as one of the stingray ships dropped from several thousand feet above them, zipped out in front of them, turned in place and blasted a pursuing black arrowhead ship. The green energy bounced off whatever shields the craft had for a few shots, but then the shield obviously failed an instant later as the shiny black ship caught fire and went careening towards the ground below.

"Right behind you sir," said Mindy nervously as she narrowly avoided a collision with the out-of-control craft. The three Eagles screamed for low altitude. A screen of low cloud cover that often formed this late in the afternoon over the ocean was a welcome sight. Perhaps they could stay unnoticed under those clouds, Mindy hoped.

Whatever was flying the blood-red craft seemed to realize their advantage in numbers over their adversaries, and two took the opportunity to chase after the diving and fleeing F-15's. The Eagle pilots skimmed low over the water and were nearly overland.

Mindy McAllen breathed hard into her oxygen mask. "How could this be happening?" She thought. Flashes of green erupted tall geysers in the water to her right and left, but she did not dare glance back. Her flight-lead guided them through a series of random but small evasive maneuvers. The enemy was apparently firing blind at them, but the shots were getting closer.

Bitching Betty, as the F-15's female voice alert system was called, warned her over and over of her low fuel. Finally, Mindy shut the alert off. She glanced down as hey made another slight jink to the right. They were overland, might they make it? Suddenly her heart skipped and her eyes went wide as two blood-red craft dropped from the clouds in front of them, spun and fired. She dove to her left. She screamed as Major Fuller's plane erupted in red-green flame in front of her. She screamed again as searing heat and pain tore through upper torso. Her life flashed before her eyes; her family; her sister and brother; school at the University of Miami; her stint of fame on that stupid reality TV show. All of it seemed to be a blur. She was aware of flames, of a melted canopy, and somehow pulling the ejection handle. Then everything went black.

________________________________________________________________________

"Mindy!" yelled Duke. His jet shuddered in protest. He had watched in horror as his instructor disintegrated and his friend's plane spun toward the ground in flames. Instead of diving, he had punched the afterburner and corkscrewed his aircraft through the fireball that had been Major Fuller and directly between the two alien craft. Each alien craft spun in place again for what Duke was sure would be the killing shot. Duke risked a glance in his tiny rear view mirror and whooped with joy at what he saw. While both alien ships continued to fire, one made the mistake of rotating towards his wingman, instead of away. As a result, one of the alien craft was destroyed at point blank range.

"HA! HA! Take that you stupid-ass sons of bitches!" he cried. He dove to only a hundred feet off the ground, juking and jinking. The confusion of the mistake appeared to have bought Duke a little time and distance, but he already knew that wouldn't matter. Duke slowed his jet, pulled the ejection handle, and felt the heat of his exploding jet as it was consumed by green energy and flame below him.

_______________________________________________________________________

The E-3 crew was deadly silent. Knuckles were white, and all Jeff could hear was his own breath in his oxygen mask. The plan was to skirt the coast for a few more miles, staying under cloud cover, then head north to a base further inland like Maxwell or even all the way up to Langley. The crew expected to be debriefed in detail by intelligence. Jeff made a mental note to give a full account of the heroic efforts of the weaponless fighters from Crow squadron, who were apparently the last of their squadron. They had lost radio contact with the trio soon after the hard turning dive to the east. Jeff silently prayed they were alright.

Moments before Jeff had directed the last four pilots of Gorilla Squadron to regroup with the two remaining Marines and head to a base as far north as they could. While he was doing that, Jeff paid attention a message coming in over his satellite secure radio that was being relayed out to all U.S. Military aircraft from North American command. NORAD had directed Southeast command to withdrawal all aircraft from the airspace of the Gulf coast in an effort to marshal more fighters further inland for a stronger, second wave of defense. Every squadron deployed overseas was ordered to make best speed for the continental United States. The message continued with more orders for other regions of the U.S., and then repeated.

Then came the dreaded warning from Eglin mission, who was now the largest radar source in the area. "Sentry Three One, come north now, we think you have hostiles inbound."

"Sentry Three One copies, hostiles inbound." said the E-3's pilot with icy calm.

Jeff remembered the man from the briefings as a wise looking middle- aged Asian man. Jeff guessed that the man probably flown many other aircraft in his day. Jeff felt the aircraft start a slow turn to the north, but the turn never finished. The flight deck talked over the internal radios for the whole aircraft, so the crew could know what was going on. "Two of them, two o'clock high!" declared the copilot.

"Easy, don't think they've seen us yet," replied the pilot, still calm. "Lets descend to one hundred fifty feet and cut speed to two hundred knots."

The crash alarm went off in a series of short bells. "Crew if were spotted I may ditch this aircraft before they can blow us from the sky. Hopefully, that'll give us a chance and they'll decide to leave us alone."

"Crew copies," answered the Mission Crew Commander.

The last voice Jeff heard was the copilots. "Sir, they're tu …"

It all seemed to happen in slow motion. A tremendous boom filled his ears. His ears popped. Several people screamed. Jagged holes melted away at the top of the aircraft. Next to him, the head and torso of Jake Riley became flame and ash in a flash of green. Pieces of what must have been the rotor-dome radar sliced into the large bank of radio and computer equipment in front of him. Fire erupted in the cabin. He was a plunged forward and down, and then he was jarred to a halt, the screech of twisting and buckling mettle resonating in his ears.

Then tons of water flooded rapidly into the cabin. The aircraft had broken in two toward the front of the fuselage on impact, as it was designed to do. Jeff swam to safety out of the large gaping hole as the burning jet quickly sank behind him. He became aware of at least two others behind him. Jeff inflated his life preserver with a tug on two small cords at his chest level. The whole crew had put the fast inflate preservers on when they had first assumed crash positions, back when they thought they were going to be shot from the sky at several thousand feet, instead of a few hundred. Jeff counted ten other survivors floating in the area. The rest were nowhere to be seen. He lay back in the water and closed his eyes. This had been a long day.


End file.
